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Charlie and the Jurassic Factory part 2
By CeratosPit
The next morning, Dr. Alan Grant came by the Degler residence to pick up young Charlie. The boy raced to the door as if he'd been waiting to do so for the past twelve hours.
"That was the longest twelve hours ever!" Charlie lamented. "Let's go."
In no mood to argue, Alan agreed and he two were on their way. "Say, were your parents home?"
"No, they had to dump my grandparents into the east river. But I left them a note on the table so they'll know where I am." At the Degler house, the words 'MA N PA I WENT 2 D HH FACTRY W AG C U LTR' were sPelled out with old pieces of Alpha-bits cereal.
Alan and Charlie argued the rise of profanity on the radio from a geopolitical standpoint while walking until they finally arrived at the gates of Hammond Honky's Fabled Factory. It was easily the biggest manmade structure Charlie had ever seen and was the only factory on Earth visible from sPace. It was cordoned off from the rest of the world by a 35ft high electric fence whose only means of entry was an enormous gate topped by two torches. Between the flames, the logo, "HAMMOND HONKY" was carved out in bold, red letters.
"What do they got in there? King Kong?" asked a tall man dressed in dark clothes who stood nearby. Alan turned to notice him. By the man's side was a black girl in her late teens dressed like a Japanese schoolgirl.
"How do you do?" Alan said, offering his hand."I'm Dr. Alan Grant."
"Ah, hello." accepted the stranger. "I'm Dr. Ian Malcolm. This is my daughter Kelly."
"Daughter?" Alan asked. "But you're...white."
"And you's a racist douchebag for bringing that up." retorted Ian. "Why you gotta discriminate, huh? You's an ign'ant-ass mutha, kna what I'm sayin'? Hell, bitch I oughta pop you off ri' now but I ain't cuz mah baby girl wanna get huh factory tour on, a'ight?"
"Suki, papa!" Kelly laughed. "Domo Arigato!"
"Girl, quit talkin' like dat." her father demanded.
Just then, a comely blond milf walked over to the slowly growing group of prize winners with her filthy looking teenaged son. "Excuse me, is this where the prize winners wait?"
"As far as we know it is, yes." answered Alan, tipping his hat. “I’m Alan Grant--”
Alan was knocked down to a side by Ian who introduced himself. “And I’m Ian Malcolm. Dr. Ian Malcolm.”
“I’m Amanda Kirby. A recently divorced mother trying to hold down a job, raise a son and keep an avid sex life. What are you a doctor of?” Amanda inquired.
“Doctor of gettin’ in yo’ pants. Whatchu say, shorty? You feel like colorin’ outside the lines?”
“But…you’re white.”
“Just on the outside.”
“You are completely pathetic. But then again, I’m a total whore. You feel like christening the first janitor’s closet we see in that factory?”
“Fuh sho’!”
At this point, Amanda’s son introduced himself to Kelly. “Hello there! I’m Eric Kirby!”
Kelly sniffed the air. “Ah-yaaa! What’s that smell?”
“That would be my boxer shorts.” Eric explained. “I’ve been wearing the same pair of underwear for the past six years. That’s a world record!”
“Really? I’m the resident Dance Dance Revolution champion!”
“Let’s be friends!”
“Let’s not!”
At this point, Charlie thought he’d introduce himself. “Hello, I’m Charlie Degl--AAAAGH!!!”
Charlie was run over by a solid gold stretch limousine. As he crawled out from under it, the driver came out, stepped on Charlie’s pounded body while making his way back and opened the door to let out his employer, a man of considerable wealth. Paul Bowman, dressed in top hat and coat tails helped out his daughter Cathy Bowman. Cathy was a teenaged girl clad in a dress made out of thousand dollar bills.
“I say, father…” she said to her father, “why do we, the British , always start our sentences by saying ‘I say? Isn’t that rather redundant?”
“I say, Cathy, that is actually a stereotype perpetuated by slow-witted Americans making vain attempts to imitate the Queen’s good English.”
“Bugger!”
Charlie stood up and dusted himself off. “Don’t worry, everybody, I’m fine. I just--AAAAGH!!!”
Charlie was run over by another stretch limousine. This time an attractive pair of kids in their early twenties stepped out. “Attention, everybody…” sPoke the young man. “My name is Tim Murphy and this is my older sister Lex Murphy. We’re the grandchildren of--”
“Can it, Tim!” Lex scolded. “We ran over a poor little boy!”
“We’ll buy him an ice cream.” her brother retorted.
“No, I’m--I’m alright…” Charlie insisted. “However, I’d be very much obliged if people in limousines were to stop running me over. I think I’m down to my last non-ruptured kidney.”
“You poor child…” Lex comforted. She then lay his head upon her ample bosom. “Here. Rest your head on my ample bosoms.”
Alan prematurely rested his head upon her ample bosoms too. “Can I get it on some of this?”
A slap to the face was his answer. No sooner did Alan rub his stinging cheek then did the gates swing open and slam the visitors into the fence. “Sorry about that.” said a voice on the loudsPeaker. “They weren’t quite supposed to be so fast. Anyway, as soon as you all pry yourselves out, feel free to make your way to the main entry door of my fantabulous factory!”
Dazed and momentarily stunned, the visitors nonetheless managed to remove themselves from between the enormous pressing doors and the chain link fence. They staggered across the parking lot where the shipping trucks were usually parked. Today, the lot was empty but for ten shook up people who finally arrived at an enormous steel door atop a most elaborately designed stoop. They all stood around waiting for something to happen.
“Maybe somebody should ring the doorbell.” Charlie suggested, reaching for the button.
“Charlie, stop!” protested Alan. “Don’t, Charlie!”
The moment Charlie pushed that doorbell the door swung open and knocked the young boy off the stoop. After a moment of pointing and laughing at the boy’s misfortune everybody soon looked inside. All they saw was a darkened hallway. Nobody knew how long it was or whether or not they were supposed to enter it. “I say,” said Mr. Bowman, “are supposed to go inside.”
“Shh.” warned Kelly. “Anybody else hear that?”
“Hear what?” asked Ian.
“Don’t worry…” Charlie assured everybody. “That’s just the sound of me internally bleeding. It’s nothing to worry--”
“Hey, shut up!” snapped Eric. “It sounds like singing.”
As if those words were a cue, the great, long hall lit up and revealed the sPectacle of a thousand little orange men with green hair singing and dancing to a hypnotic vocal melody. About twenty of the little fellows came up from behind the visitors and pushed them into the hall closing the door behind them. The visitors stood and watched in astonishment of the sPectacle being performed to them. Bouncing off the walls, swinging from trapezes and dancing all around in unparalleled choreographed sPlendor, the little men put words to their music…
“Poopa Doopa Doopity Dine
Listen To Us And We’ll Get Along Fine!
Poopa Doopa Poopity Ped
Heed This Advice Or You’ll Wind Up Dead!
Show Some ResPect And Do As You’re Told!
Keep All Your Basic Instincts Controlled!
Look But Don’t Touch And Most Importantly
Fortune Don’t Smile On The Gree-dy!
We also don’t like littering.
Poopa Doopa Doopity Dime
Enjoy Yourselves And Have A Good Time!
Sit Back, Relax, Prepare To Be Thrilled!
Best Of Luck On You Not Getting Killed!
Kippity Killed!”
When the song ended, the little orange men exited through the air vents. The visitors were left standing entertained but puzzled. “What do you think all that business about not getting killed was about?” Amanda pondered aloud.
“And what were those Poopa Doopa things?” Tim asked.
“According to my vast pale ontological research…” explained Alan, “I believe those little men were Homo florensis; the little hobbit people thought to be extinct in Indonesia. But how on Earth are there so many alive and what are they doing in a factory?”
“Maybe it’s a homo…*yawn*…factory.” suggested Ian. “Anybody else getting tired?”
“Yeah…” yawned Lex. “I think the Poopa Doopas are pumping sleeping gas into this hall…”
Charlie turned back to the door. “Then we’d better…” Before he could reach the knob, Charlie and everybody else fell asleep on the carpet. Who knew what terrible fate awaited them all?
7/31/2005 5:13:37 PM
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